


Lingerie, he bespoke

by Trista_zevkia



Series: Platonic [12]
Category: Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: In Public, Lingerie, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-01 01:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark just has to go to a party, which means he's got to make it worth Brucie's while to invite him. He should have been suspicious when it was easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lingerie, he bespoke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quiltdiva](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Quiltdiva).



“Batman, could I have a minute?” Superman’s request at the end of JL meetings wasn’t that unusual. Nor was the exasperated, hard-pressed reply he received.

“I’m not that busy, how about 65 seconds?” 

Experienced members of the JL rolled their eyes and moved out of the meeting room. New members darted out of the room like an interdimensional portal had just opened behind them. Most members of the league would rather be sucked into an interdimensional portal than a World’s Finest fight, knowing it to be safer. Relatively soon, Superman was alone with Batman, but his tense stance didn’t ease. Clearly, he was embarrassed about what he was about to say. 

“So, I need your help.” 

“Don’t you always?” 

“Not always, and I want your help more than need, per say.” 

“Flatterer.” Batman snorted. “You must want something big.” 

“Little, actually, it’s just that I need it from Bruce.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“You can interrogate people in seven languages and that’s what you come out with?” 

“Uh huh.” A slight change in inflection and the two syllables were now mocking. 

“Ok, you don’t want to make this easy.” After a frustrated exhalation that moved his perfect little s-curl, Superman forced himself to talk at a human pace. “There’s this party I need an invite to. It’s supposed to be a stolen goods auction in a backroom, but even the invite to the party is exclusive and I need to get into the party in order to crash the auction, unless I go as Superman but I was doing an article on them, trying to find out how the black-market works.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Fine! Bruce, can you get me into Nikolai Gogol’s RSVP Custom-Made Engagement Party?” 

Batman made a strange sound, one that would be the snort of suppressed laughter with anybody else. Batman didn’t laugh, so it couldn’t be that, or so Superman hoped. 

“That’s the party you want to go to?” 

“Yes. I know Gogol is famous but I don’t know what the big deal is about this party, or why it’s got such a stupid name.” 

“Actually, he’s a playwright. Probably something important about all those words.” 

“Well, the name of the party is not ‘party and stolen art auction’ and that’s all that I’m concerned about.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“What now?” 

“Never mind.” Batman made a dismissive gesture, which made Superman look fearful. “I’ll get Kent on the guest list.” 

“And I won’t owe you anything?” 

“No, I’ll do this one out of the goodness of my heart.” Batman didn’t smile, but Superman saw it anyway. 

“Uh huh.” 

“My line.” Batman said, before heading out the door. His body language was far too happy for Superman’s peace of mind. It was just a party though, how bad could it be? 

sB _Sb_ Bs

Lois had been so pissed that Clark got an invite that she refused to help him pick out an outfit. He’d promised to share the byline with her and thought this attitude was very annoying, but still found himself staring into his closet alone. What could he wear to a party with the fashionable crowd that would let him blend in without ruining Clark Kent’s goofball image? The doorbell was a happy break from staring at his clothes and he entertained hope that Lois had changed her mind. Opening the door without looking, he was surprised to see Alfred holding a clothing box. 

“Hey, Alfred! What brings you here?” 

“Master Bruce thought you might need assistance with this evening’s dress code.” 

“Dress code? I can’t just wear a tux or something?” 

“Most amusing, sir.” Alfred didn’t look amused, but then again, Alfred seemed to be the model Vulcans were made from. 

“Come on in, though I do think I can dress myself.” 

Alfred handed over the box as he stepped into the apartment, apparently content to let Clark do as he pleased. 

“Make yourself comfortable.” Clark said with a shrug, as he carried the box to his room. It wasn’t really that big of a box, so he supposed it was a club tie and matching cummerbund or something. Dropping the box on his bed and pulling off the top, Clark blinked at it for a moment before calling down the hallway. “Alfred, I think you picked up the wrong box!” 

“No, sir.” A soft voice replied from just outside his door, making Clark jump a little. “That is the outfit Master Bruce picked out for you, and had made to your specifications.” 

“But, it’s, um, you know, frilly.” 

“Yes sir, but it is standard dress for a bespoke lingerie party.” 

“Lingerie party?” The breathless quality in Clark’s voice couldn’t be helped. He hadn’t breathed since he opened the box. 

“Bespoke lingerie party, Master Kent. The word bespoke has several definitions, including the past tense of bespeak, the action of reserving such as through an RSVP, or announcing an engagement. Traditionally, it also meant tailor-made as opposed to fitting an existing suit to a body.” 

“That’s interesting Alfred, but it doesn’t really tell me why there are ribbons in that box.” 

“The modern meaning of bespoke tends to pertain to men in lingerie in styles traditionally associated with females, but tailored to men’s bodies. Hence, frills in your size, sir.” 

“That’s why Bruce agreed to help, he knew what Nikolai Gogol’s RSVP Custom-Made Engagement Party was about!” 

“Considering three definitions of the word bespoke are in the name and Gogol is most famous for his play that was made into a movie under the title _The Bespoke Overcoat_ , perhaps Master Bruce thought it was obvious.” 

“Only if you knew people did this sort of thing!” 

“True, sir. In light of your inexperience, would you appreciate some assistance?” 

“No!” Clark whirled around, holding up a restraining hand, only to realize Alfred was still on the other side of the bedroom door. “Thank you Alfred, but I don’t want anybody to see me in this stuff.” 

“As you are going to a party dressed that way, it hardly seems possible, but as you like, sir.” 

Clark didn’t hear Alfred leaving but Alfred was part ninja so that didn’t mean anything. Alfred couldn’t see through doors, so even if he stayed he wouldn’t be able to see what Clark was doing. Still, it was with embarrassment coloring his cheeks that Clark slowly stripped off his clothes. Clearly, he couldn’t wear the super-suit under this outfit, which made him feel even worse about the whole thing. 

Clark found what he believed to be underwear, and after some wiggling and stuffing, got it in place. It was a light blue with three rows of black lace across the front section and the back. The sides were black ribbon ties, probably for easy removal. Looking back into the box, Clark realized the only thing he knew what to do with was the thigh-high stockings, and he was afraid of ripping the delicate looking things in his strong hands. Stepping to his door, he opened it to find Alfred waiting, without looking like he was waiting. 

“Alfred…” Clark trailed off, not wanting to admit he was about to ask. 

“I did deliver the gift so that I might assist you with dressing, if that would be beneficial to you, Master Kent.” 

Clark grinned, thrilled that Alfred could agree to helping without making Clark ask. It was a shame Bruce hadn’t learned that trait. No, Clark decided, Bruce knew how to do that but enjoyed making people ask. “Thank you, Alfred.” 

Clark went back to the bed, and let his eyes focus on the world outside his bedroom. Alfred directed him, first getting him sit on the bed so the stockings could be slid onto each leg. They were black, with blue pinstripes that matched the underwear. Black ribbons with bows attached the stockings to the straps of his underwear. Holding his arms over his head, Clark let Alfred slid on the corset and direct his arms through the straps. The ribbons on the front were decorative and Clark didn’t think he’d have been able to tighten up the back ribbons without help. 

“Master Kent, the stays and whalebone of the corsets are a flexible plastic. Master Bruce felt that if you broke them in a public setting, it would be easier to explain. You should be mindful of them.” 

“I don’t plan on doing any quick changes while wearing this, but I also never planned on wearing stockings, so make of that what you will.” 

“I could not have planned on taking Master Bruce to a discreet tailor and ordering this outfit for you. Life often gives us what we cannot plan for, sir.” 

Clark laughed, a short but genuine sound. “Very true, very wise.” 

“You physiology will not allow me to get this particularly tight, but the overall effect is pleasing, sir.” 

Taking this as permission, Clark stepped over to look in the mirror. The corset was the same light, baby blue from the bottom to the one inch straps arcing over his shoulders. Four rows of black lace curved from his pecs to his waist, hinting at an hourglass shape. Wide black ribbons made three x’s and a large bow on the front. More lace at the top and bottom of the corset, and yet an inch or two of Clark’s stomach showed, depending on how he moved. 

“I feel so naked.” He moaned at the mirror. 

“The mask should help with your sense of modesty, sir.” 

“There’s a mask? Thank Rao, where is it?” 

“It is in the car, sir. I thought it best for you to leave your apartment in an overcoat and your normal shoes.” 

“Shoes?” 

“One cannot wear loafers with stockings, Master Kent. In the car, you can change shoes and put on the mask, only removing the overcoat when you are inside the building.” 

“Shoes?” 

“It is a modest heel, and a slight float will allow you to walk in them with ease.” 

With a groan, Clark buried his face in his hands until a stray thought had him snapping up and around to stare at Alfred. “I don’t have to wear makeup, do I?” 

“Only if you wish, sir.” 

“Hell no.” Batman would have been proud of the command in that tone, but Clark ducked his head as he realized who he’d said that to. “I mean, no thank you.” 

“Understood, sir.” Alfred’s voice held enough warmth and affection for Clark to know he was forgiven the outburst. Though it was a matter of public record that Alfred had the patience of a saint; all you had to do was look at who he worked for. 

Glancing at the clock, the one hidden from view by his bed, Clark noticed the time. “Party started at 8, and since I can’t fly there dressed like this, I’m too late to go.” 

“You can decide not to go, sir, though you will miss out on the opportunity to see what Master Bruce has chosen to wear.” 

As the words penetrated, Clark realized how very important it was to go to this party. To break up the black market ring, and only that reason, it had nothing to do with seeing Bruce squeezed into something with lace and ribbons. What were the odds Bruce would actually wear ribbons? “I’m surprised Bruce could spare you to help me, if he planned on going.” 

“Master Bruce has many skills, sir.” 

Clark forced himself to take a deep breath, using the worry over breaking the corset to keep him from thinking about Bruce using his contortion abilities to get into a similar outfit. “I…” Clark had to pause to clear his throat before continuing. “I guess we should get going then.” 

“Master Bruce will meet you there, sir.” 

Clark thought he detected a trace of smugness in Alfred’s voice, but put that down to his own confusion. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

Alfred wasn’t driving, which allowed him to help Clark into the three-inch heeled, blue, pixie boots that matched his corset. At the club, Alfred followed him inside to help with the mask and make sure Clark took off the overcoat. It was a wise decision on Alfred’s part, as Clark had realized he could just look through the walls to see Bruce in his outfit and leave. Alfred’s calm got Clark into the party, where he was very pleased to note he wasn’t the only one in bespoke lingerie. 

Had he been the butt of some elaborate joke and the only one in these clothes, Batman would have shortly been trying to build a Batcave on the moon. 

Some of the slender men were in women’s lingerie, but most of the men had fitted clothes. If there were women present, Clark couldn’t find them without an x-ray so he didn’t look too hard. He was determined to find the secret signal to get invited to the black market auction, but he was desperate to see Bruce. Clark could happily ignore the outfits on the party guests, even under the bright ballroom lights, but then he’d get a glimpse in a mirror. 

The occasional sight of himself in this outfit, even with the mask was enough to keep him blushing. He needed to either find his way to the center of the crowd to avoid the mirrors, or plant his butt against one and hope he didn’t leave butt-prints. Why did Bruce have to tell him butt-prints were as unique as fingerprints? That kind of information didn’t help when you felt like your ass was hanging out. And the mirror was damn cold. 

“8 mil for a hairpin? Who are they kidding?” 

The mutter across the room was a chance hearing, but even in this crowd Clark didn’t think hairpieces went for that much. He focused in on the uncomfortable looking guy who had spoken and his companion. They were wearing very short kilts with white sports bras, and Clark was jealous of them. 

Clark was jealous of clothes that covered the ass. 

Clark was going to put Bruce on the moon after all. 

“Pure jade, centuries old, blah blah blah. Just buy something, so we can get the hell out of these outfits!” 

“Auction’s been pushed back, while they deal with some drunken idiot who wondered in.” The guy made a gesture to behind him, and Clark knew exactly where Bruce was. Or at least, Brucie. 

A quick x-ray showed a room behind the ballroom, with a hidden door leading to another room. In the secret room, a familiar skeleton was slouched in a chair, while 18 guys stood around him. Grabbing two scotches from the open bar, Clark put them into one hand and staggered his way into the room. Just one drunken idiot looking for another, an idea helped by him opening the door and staring at Bruce for a solid minute. Really, he’d planned that, or so he’d swear if ever asked, because there was no way a lace covered Bruce effected him that much. 

Red lace. 

Red lace on Bruce. 

Batman, head to toe, vibrant red lace. 

Red lace bodysuit, red lace Batsuit? 

“Red.” Clark spoke at last, and went back to staring. 

The red lace looked like spiderwebs, crawling over Bruce in a loose confusion of material, shifting with each breath. It spilled over at the collar, looking like a chocker, but the mask was made of the same material and hung past his chin. The colors of the skin under the lace could have been the way the light reflected off the red lace, not the bruises and scars of a life in pain. At the elbows and knees, the material made billowing sleeves and bell bottoms. The gladiator sandals didn’t have a heel, but trailed up muscled thighs in black x’s. 

A black silk hourglass shape covered from Bruce’s nipples to mid-thigh, suggesting at curves that weren’t there. This was tied onto the back with wide black ribbons, that still left a lot of skin on display, under the red spiderweb lace. At least lace was the only word Clark could name the material. The hand on Clark’s back, shoving him into the room wasn’t Bruce’s and that didn’t feel right to Clark. Bruce should be touching him, so he could touch Bruce. 

“Another drunken idiot? This was supposed to be a secret room!” Somebody yelled, clearly irritated. 

Brucie replied first, reminding Clark of just what was going on. “If it’s a secret party, we can leave. I just told my date to meet me here for a quicky, didn’t know the room was booked for orgies.” 

“He’s your date?” Irritated asked, pointing at Clark as he was shoved onto a chair beside Bruce. Irritated and the rest of the men in the room were dressed as wait staff, complete with domino masks. Their disgust at people who attended the party for the actual party was clear. 

“Sexy, isn’t he?” Brucie asked, apparently oblivious to Irritated’s irritation. “Got him a set of sheer baby doll jammies, but he wouldn’t wear them in public.” 

“Boss, can we kill Spiderman and his boy toy?” The armed thug standing behind Clark asked, contempt in his tone. 

Boss Irritated narrowed his eyes and studied his prisoners. “No, it’s too perfect of a cover. Drunken idiot plans on meeting boyfriend in our meeting? And look at the muscles on display! I don’t know where the cops found these two, but they’re not what they pretend to be.” 

Clark wanted to look at Bruce and silently ask if there was a plan, but the looking at Bruce was a bad idea right now. They weren’t in bad enough position for Clark not to be aware of Bruce’s sexuality. Clark really hoped he was never in such dire straits he couldn’t appreciate Bruce on some level. 

“Boss?” Another armed thug tentatively asked. “I don’t mean to question you, but where would they put the wire?” 

“Only a few places I can think of, Nicky. Check ‘em.” 

“Actually, his corset’s made of plastic. No wires.” Brucie helpfully informed them. 

Boss Irritated backhanded Brucie for that and Clark instinctively moved closer, protecting one side of Bruce really well. Irritated gave a snort of disgust, followed by an amused hum. “Let them search each other. If they are what they claim, they’ll enjoy it. If not, we can kill ‘em and leave the bodies in the punch bowl.” 

“I didn’t think the punch bowl was that big.” Clark heard himself speak and couldn’t believe it. It was official: being around Bruce kept too much blood from his brain. But he still managed to lean away from the backhand enough to keep the Boss from breaking his hand. That might have been a clue as to something strange going on here. 

“Who’s the girl in this relationship?” Boss asked, causing his men to snigger. 

“I assure you, we both have cocks.” Brucie replied, his voice full of suggestion and lust. 

Clark knew he was the only one who heard the edge to that voice, the one saying his ‘suggestion’ was breaking the legs of anyone who dared make bigoted statements in front of Bruce. 

“I’m the bottom!” Clark tried to sound cheery, but he couldn’t keep his voice as steady as Bruce always seemed to. Being the bottom, the girl, was bound to get him the most humiliation from these thugs, and would keep Batman hidden a while longer. It was for the thugs own safety that Clark was going to take what they dished out, a stray thought that made Clark realize he needed to rethink his life. 

“Bottom, bitch, catcher, I don’t care what you call yourself.” Boss Irritated rolled his eyes, waving his hand as he gave his orders. “Get over there and spread your master’s ass. I want to see that he’s not hiding wires anywhere.” 

Clark looked to Bruce and didn’t see any helpful hints on what to do next. Glancing back at the boss, Clark tried to figure out who he’d rather have irritated at him. “I don’t suppose you’d like for me to explain the concept of switching and how such an act would change our relationship dynamic?” 

“No.” Boss at least got to the point occasionally, even if he looked confused while doing so. “Do the cavity search, or there won’t be a dynamic duo to have a relationship. Do you need me to explain that more?” 

“No, thanks.” Clark was a lot friendlier with his ‘no’ than the boss had been, but he was already looking at Bruce for permission. 

Bruce adjusted himself in the chair, so he could toss his left leg over the arm. His ass was on the edge of the seat, offering himself to Clark, offering his cock in a blue pouch. A very familiar shade of blue, cupping his cock. 

Bruce had Superman blue thong underwear on. 

The kick to the back of his knee should have brought Clark down, instead it just brought him back into awareness of his audience. He stepped closer to Bruce, even as the thug behind him hopped around, yelling about having kicked the fag directly in the bone. Kissing Bruce’s forehead and starting to kiss and nuzzle his way down Bruce’s neck, Clark spoke for him only. “Plan?” 

“Sex show. Distraction. Take them down.” 

As he kissed across Bruce’s neck, he knew Bruce was speaking to him without moving his lips. Clark was glad he was turned on enough to not make a mental image of Batman holding a Brucie doll for his ventriloquist act. 

“Grenade.” 

Clark was pretty sure he’d heard that wrong. None of the thugs had a grenade, just handguns with silencers. Knives had been out of fashion for a while, unless you were working for the Joker, but there were still at least one knife on each thug. Clark moved up to whisper in Bruce’s other ear, sucking a love bite on the neck and wetting the lace as he went. “Where?” 

“Underwear.” 

Clark had to see. With a dramatic popping noise, he pulled back from Bruce so he could lick at Bruce’s thigh. Bruce’s _Supersuit blue_ thong had several silver charms hanging from it, charms that looked like hand grenades. A bit of x-ray showed they had mechanics and chemicals, though they weren’t large enough to do more than surprise and disorient. 

Clark sucked a love bite on Bruce’s thigh to stop himself from laughing. It wasn’t helping, and Bruce could tell from the way his thigh was being shook. Bruce grabbed Clark’s left hand and brought it up to his mouth. Loudly, decadently, Bruce started giving Clark’s fingers a blowjob, as if to prepare them for entering him. And it should have worked, it should have turned Clark’s thoughts into a primordial ooze of lust/touch/take/want/need. Instead he sat back and laughed like he’d taken a double shot of Joker gas. 

Bruce rolled his eyes, and for a moment both were oblivious to the whole ‘hostage situation’ they found themselves in. Until the boss spoke up. 

“What the hell? You do what I told you, or I’ll shoot you now!” 

Clark held up a hand in a wait gesture, before he let it rest back on Bruce’s thigh. A deep breathe and he was able to speak. “Sorry, I’m sorry this is just so weird!” 

Bruce sighed before attempting an explanation, for their hostage taker’s benefit. “He’s not gay, he’s a pervert. All those muscles aren’t just for show, he can protect himself, but he needs to be forced to get any enjoyment out of sex.” 

The boss made a sputtering noise behind Clark, but didn’t interrupt. He was too distracted by how he was no longer in control of this situation, and let Bruce get into his lecturing stride. 

“The Kinsey Reports were based on the idea that all sexual proclivities were acknowledged, and maintained a belief in erotophilia that has not been upheld in modern research paradigms, particularly with regards to psychological self-reporting.” 

“Enough!” Clark called throwing his hands back in despair. This move also pulled the pins on the tiny grenades, the ones Clark had managed to wedge between his fingers, and flung them about the room. Nobody saw the flash bang grenades leave his hands, but they all saw the results. Clark got the boss while Bruce flipped backwards and used his chair to take out two thugs. It wasn’t the sex show distraction Bruce had planned on, but a sex lecture complete with grenades was very distracting. The rest of the thugs went down before they could understand what was happening. 

Clark made a quick assessment of their foes after the last was down. “All unconscious and nobody’s breaking down the door. So much for the art auction. What was all that nonsense you were spouting?” 

“People are embarrassed to talk about sex, which makes it hard to study.” Bruce interpreted himself as he started using the thugs own belts to tie their hands. 

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Clark rolled his eyes as he followed suit, noticing the boss didn’t have a belt with his wait staff uniform. 

“Big words from masked drunken idiots are more surprising, and hence, more distracting.” 

“The second ‘hence’ of the night. I need a new life.” 

“Have mine.” 

“Did you really try the ‘drunk stumbles into the secret meeting’ plan?” 

“No.” There was annoyance in his voice, like Bruce was irritated at the question asked. But also something else, some subtle thing that told Clark that Bruce would like to drop the subject, please and thank you. 

“So, why did you come in here?” Clark asked, ignoring all of Bruce’s hints. 

“I was investigating the strange line in the wall of the next room.” 

Clark looked up from tying the boss up with his jacket, and snorted a laugh. “You were so busy looking at the mystery of the wall line that you opened a door and walked in a secret meeting by accident.” 

Bruce didn’t look embarrassed, just raised his chin and eyebrow in an act of defiance. 

Clark laughed in the face of that expression. When he was able to, Clark raised a finger to help him make his point. “You accidentally disrupted a room of thugs, while wearing a g-string with actual grenades. A grenade-string.” 

“Thong.” Bruce snarked back and held his pose for almost a minute before breaking down. He had a good laugh at the absurdity of the situation and his compulsive need to make miniature, fully functioning weapons. 

Clark found he was suddenly hard, turned on past reason by the idea of Bruce laughing. 

Clark stepped forward, until he was close enough to cup Bruce’s chin, so he did. 

“Don’t start that Clark. We’ve got a bunch of thugs to turn over.” 

“Unconscious, they can wait.” Another step and a determined hip grind, showed Bruce that Clark wasn’t ready to wait. 

Bruce swallowed heavily and pulled them into a kiss. He pulled away first, careful not to let Clark feel his erection. “Try to keep an ear out, so they don’t regain consciousness and we don’t get visitors. This has to be quick, no time to enjoy you in those colors, the softness, the delicacy against your steely self.” 

“Quick and dirty, so stop talking.” Clark went for a commanding tone, but it still sounded really dirty to his ears. He loved it, and from the way Bruce wrapped around him, Clark suspected Bruce enjoyed it too. 

Bruce managed to pull Clark’s cock out of his lacey panties, but Clark couldn’t return the favor. Bruce’s complicated garment was tempting fate, or at least heat vision, by not letting Clark have access to Bruce. Only knowing Brucie couldn’t walk out of this party with his scars on display kept Clark from ripping the lace-thing off. Instead he grabbed a double handful of firm ass cheek and pulled Bruce to him for a furious rut. Friction and heat were all they had, and they made excellent use of them. Kissing continuously to swallow each other’s moans, they managed to climax without calling to each other. 

Standing in the middle of the secret room, holding each other as they learned to breathe again, Clark was the first to recover. “I tried not to rip off your clothes, but I still ruined them.” 

Bruce took a wobbly step backwards to look at where Clark’s cum was streaked across his front. He gave an indifferent shrug and turned to the thugs. 

Not wanting Bruce to ignore him just yet, Clark knelt in front of Bruce. That got Bruce’s eyes on him, but he didn’t have Bruce’s attention until he started licking his cum off of Bruce’s front. When it was gone, it took Bruce several breaths to force his eyes away. 

“You should go. I’ll handle the cops, get these guys arrested, tell them you were just some guy who wandered in and not my boyfriend.” 

“We should talk about that.” Clark offered, standing. 

“No, I let you talk me into bringing you to this party, even though I knew you didn’t know what you were getting into. Least I can do is clean up the mess.” Bruce turned away and started digging in the thug’s pockets for a cell phone. “Go, and look in on things for me while you’re out.” 

Clark didn’t grin, he was so overwhelmed by the idea that Bruce was asking him to look in on Gotham. After a good look to make sure the image of Bruce in red lace and black silk was implanted in his mind, Clark walked out. Calmly, at human speeds, he went to collect his coat and meet Alfred in the lobby. He was in the car when he remembered he’d wanted to ask Bruce why they weren’t boyfriends. 

He was going to put Bruce on the moon after all. Teaching at the Bruce Wayne College of Distraction and Derailing Conversations. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a visual reference, which you need and want to see;p  
> This should link to the Iron Man Corset (really) that I based Clark's outfit on. Bruce is something I made up, in an effort to hide his scars and still let him blend in at the party. Plus it let me make Spiderman Jokes!
> 
>  
> 
> [Takes you off AO3!](http://xdress.com/product/view/Z734B)


End file.
